The Choice
by bcbdrums
Summary: The tempter had been cruel, drawing the prey as a spider to the web, the seducing darkness entwining through the soul and drawing them further and further away to a place I could not reach. "John…" she says, and I drop the rose.
1. The Choice

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Choice

© 2008 by the author (anonymous by request) in association with Daylor and Sheldon Publishing™

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

The author does not in any way profit from this work. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator.

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* * *

_A/N: This just hit me. I don't know where it came from, but it demanded writing. So I did, and I share with you all. I warn you though, you will be confused. Take it slowly and see if you can figure it out. If not, I'll be happy to explain._

_No note at the end. This is another of the powerful ones that shouldn't be interrupted by me. I shouldn't have even said anything here… Okay. On with the show!_

* * *

The Choice

_The sun is different. I don't know why. But as it beats down upon my neck and highlights the roses before me, somehow there is not as much warmth in the rays._

A love affair…

_I yank a rose from a bush with some trouble. The stem is quite thick, and now jagged and bleeding. The petals are ever so slightly damp, but the leaves not as moist as they should be at this time of year._

Losing the passion…

_I cannot name the type of rose, but its petals are many and compacted together, all fighting for their own glimpse of light. They are pale pink. But the color is not very saturated._

Return is impossible…

_I press the heavy bloom to my lips, feeling the cool velvet of it as I move it back and forth across my mouth. But after a moment, it is my dry lips that I feel more than the softness of the flower._

And then love is dead.

But not by choice. It was stolen by another. Until avarice and the desire to possess the other became the dominating emotion, and indeed both were consumed by it.

And now they are dead.

_She comes out to greet me, a sad smile on her face. She moves like an angel, gliding over the path to my side as if she were treading upon a cloud._

What of my love?

_Less than one month…it has been exactly twenty days, and still it feels like yesterday. She knows of course. I see it in her eyes._

Stolen from me…

_Her warm hands cover my cold ones as her sad blue eyes look up at me. The rose is between us, like a wall keeping out all trespassers. But she is no longer one of them._

Never realized…

_I slowly lower the rose to my side, her hands leaving mine as I move. I feel a sudden rush, like part of my spirit left me as her hands did. Just as when he did._

But did know of death…

_I fall into her embrace and let flow the tears. I had not cried, even when I had every opportunity, every excuse. But it meant nothing if no one understood._

How can one understand darkness but not light?

The tempter had been cruel, drawing the prey as a spider to the web. The seducing darkness entwining through the soul and drawing them further and further away to a place I could not reach.

I saw the evil fire that last time and knew in my heart it was over, though I couldn't admit it to myself then. I wouldn't.

How could I have seen fire but not raised the cry?

"_John…" she says, and I drop the rose. I swear I can hear it hit the stones, "It will be okay…I promise you."_

_She cannot promise that. Even now, knowing, she cannot promise that. I'm not sure…if she truly knows. But I can let her in now. No walls any longer. I don't want them._

Friday the twenty-fourth…

"_Mary, I—" my voice breaks. What can I say anyway? There is no way to explain. How can one define love? One can only know from feeling it, and then losing it…how I am feeling._

Thirty days since I saw the fire…

"_It will be okay," she weeps, her own voice breaking as she buries her face into my chest. I can feel her fingers gripping tighter into the clothing on my back. She acts as if…_

Monday the fourth…

_I pull away, the flow of my tears halting as I look into her liquid eyes. It's true. She does know. But how? How can she possibly understand? No one ever has._

Only ten days between…

"_I'm sorry," I hear myself say, "I should have told you."_

"_I wouldn't have understood then. I do now." Her words confirm it, as does the sincerity and pain in her eyes. Of Heaven, I know she understands. But of Hell…_

Three lives were lost then.

_I gave to her!_

No, four.

_What have I done? I've done it from the beginning! With the first kiss and every touch, I had been the tempter, the seducer. Luring her to a place she did not understand, but love compelled her to follow._

Continuing with envy…

_Was love that blinding? That we had both fallen into the trap? But no, not just the two of us. For I was a victim as well. The second victim._

Desperate to win…

_The first had been defeated. Dead and lost forever in memory. And I was still being drawn in! I could not let a dead threat defeat me._

_We were all linked, and the first two were broken. Two left, still drawn in by the power of love. But we have the opportunity to sever the link permanently._

And seeing the truth too late.

The world is dying with me. Just as a rose loses its petals, each day that I go deeper in my own extensions wither. I had not noticed the silence.

But there is nothing left. Even the sun deserts me now, and threatens to take her. To disappear behind the clouds of my despair awaiting conclusion.

But I see the truth in time.

"_I love you. You and only you, until eternity," I whisper. My words are lost on the breeze._

Do I break?


	2. The Choice, annotated

_A/N: Since only one person truly understood this, I'm posting an extremely detailed annotation and an explanation of my thoughts on the psychology of the characters as I was writing this. All notes will be in (parentheses). The psychology explanation will be in a following chapter._

* * *

The Choice--Annotated version _(The speaker is Watson, of course)_

_The sun is different. I don't know why. But as it beats down upon my neck and highlights the roses before me, somehow there is not as much warmth in the rays. _(Something has happened to Watson, making his perception of the world unhappy)

A love affair… _(Someone took a person he loved away from him)_

_I yank a rose from a bush with some trouble. The stem is quite thick, and now jagged and bleeding. The petals are ever so slightly damp, but the leaves not as moist as they should be at this time of year._ (He recognizes a permanent change in his life)

Losing the passion… _(His relationship with the person changed)_

_I cannot name the type of rose, but its petals are many and compacted together, all fighting for their own glimpse of light. They are pale pink. But the color is not very saturated. _(Every memory tries to assert itself, but they are tainted and no longer bring him joy)

Return is impossible… _(The relationship can't be the same)_

_I press the heavy bloom to my lips, feeling the cool velvet of it as I move it back and forth across my mouth. But after a moment, it is my dry lips that I feel more than the softness of the flower._ (He tries to recall the happy feelings, but they are gone)

And then love is dead. _(Metaphor for the lost person)_

But not by choice. It was stolen by another. _Moriarty stole Holmes from Watson_ Until avarice and the desire to possess the other became the dominating emotion, and indeed both were consumed by it._ (Holmes's pursuit of Moriarty and vice versa destroyed them both; it was that which changed the friendship)_

And now they are dead. _(I think that's pretty clear)_

_She comes out to greet me, a sad smile on her face. She moves like an angel, gliding over the path to my side as if she were treading upon a cloud._ (Literally, Mary comes outside to see Watson. He perceives her as perfect. A perfect example of a true bond of love)

What of my love?_ (He's asking why Holmes essentially forsook their friendship, for the sake of pursuring Moriarty)_

_Less than one month…it has been exactly twenty days, and still it feels like yesterday. She knows of course. I see it in her eyes._ (Twenty days since Reichenbach. Mary knows he is still suffering the loss)

Stolen from me…_ (He blames Moriarty for Holmes's loss)_

_Her warm hands cover my cold ones as her sad blue eyes look up at me. The rose is between us, like a wall keeping out all trespassers. But she is no longer one of them._ (He had not really explained to her the nature of his and Holmes's friendship and how powerfully he felt it; no one understood and he didn't feel as if he could explain. Now he wants her to know)

Never realized… _(Holmes never quite felt the same for him)_

_I slowly lower the rose to my side, her hands leaving mine as I move. I feel a sudden rush, like part of my spirit left me as her hands did. Just as when he did._ (He lost something of himself when Holmes died, and it is hard for him to reveal to her just how much he cared for Holmes, since he was in essence a rival for her love. Though she never felt that way, Watson thought so. It was a contradiction within him)

But did know of death… _(Holmes had resigned himself to it)_

_I fall into her embrace and let flow the tears. I had not cried, even when I had every opportunity, every excuse. But it meant nothing if no one understood._ (That's pretty clear. Again, Watson felt like no one could understand the depth of their friendship)

How can one understand darkness but not light? _(Referring to Holmes—he never understood the soft emotions (or didn't show it at least, if he did) but seemed to pursue the dark ones )_

The tempterhad been cruel, drawing the prey as a spider to the web. The seducing darkness entwining through the soul and drawing them further and further away to a place I could not reach. _(Holmes's desire to apprehend Moriarty took him away from Watson on an emotional level as much as a physical one and Watson felt he couldn't do anything about it)_

I saw the evil fire that last time and knew in my heart it was over, though I couldn't admit it to myself then. I wouldn't. _(He saw that Holmes had been consumed by his desire to catch Moriarty and that he couldn't be swayed from it. He knew he had somehow lost his friend, but didn't want to admit it to himself)_

How could I have seen fire but not raised the cry? _(Berating himself for not trying to bring Holmes out of the obsession)_

"_John…" she says, and I drop the rose. I swear I can hear it hit the stones, "It will be okay…I promise you." _(Coming back to reality, in a shocking way; realizing it's all true)

_She cannot promise that. Even now, knowing, she cannot promise that. I'm not sure…if she truly knows. But I can let her in now. No walls any longer. I don't want them. _(He's still hesitant to try to explain the depth of the friendship to her. He thinks she understands but isn't certain)

Friday the twenty-fourth… _(Day Holmes came to him telling him about Moriarty)_

"_Mary, I—" my voice breaks. What can I say anyway? There is no way to explain. How can one define love? One can only know from feeling it, and then losing it…how I am feeling._ (Insecure about telling her about the depth of the friendship)

Thirty days since I saw the fire… _(Referring to the 24th of April, mentioned above, and the present moment)_

"_It will be okay," she weeps, her own voice breaking as she buries her face into my chest. I can feel her fingers gripping tighter into the clothing on my back. She acts as if… _(She loves him so much, and she does finally realize why he cared for Holmes so much, and understands the pain he's going through)

Monday the fourth… _(Day Holmes 'died')_

_I pull away, the flow of my tears halting as I look into her liquid eyes. It's true. She does know. But how? How can she possibly understand? No one ever has. _(He is still terribly grieving and can't get his mind wrapped around the idea that anyone could understand the depth of his loss)

Only ten days between… _(Ten days between the day Holmes told him about Moriarty and Reichenbach)_

"_I'm sorry," I hear myself say, "I should have told you." _(He is sincere. He worries that he hasn't been as good a husband as he should have been)

"_I wouldn't have understood then. I do now." Her words confirm it, as does the sincerity and pain in her eyes. Of Heaven, I know she understands. But of Hell… _(She refers to not understanding the depth of Holmes and Watson's friendship. In seeing Watson's grief it makes sense to her now. He refers to heaven as being their life as they've lived it, and hell his struggle in a friendship where he didn't always feel like his feelings were returned)

Three lives were lost then. _(Holmes, Moriarty, and himself. Because when you lose someone you love, you lose part of yourself)_

_I gave to her!_ (Referring back to the previous line, 'of hell.' He realizes that in not explaining his feelings to her, she was probably always suffering, wondering why he was so distressed)

No, four. _(Add Mary to the list)_

_What have I done? I've done it from the beginning! With the first kiss and every touch, I had been the tempter, the seducer. Luring her to a place she did not understand, but love compelled her to follow._ (He has been a good husband, but always his attention was divided between her and Holmes. Mary could do nothing but give him the benefit of the doubt if she was going to trust him. It gave her some anxiety, but she never questioned Watson's love for her. Watson doesn't know that of course. He's grieving and upset and not quite coherent)

Continuing with envy… _(Holmes wanted to stop Moriarty and vice versa. Watson wanted Holmes back, Mary wanted Watson back)_

_Was love that blinding? That we had both fallen into the trap? But no, not just the two of us. For I was a victim as well. The second victim._ (Mary, Holmes, and Watson—three victims of deception by omission. Holmes's love was for the game, and it trapped him. He's the first victim. Watson's love for Holmes (platonic; let's make that clear) trapped him. He's the second victim. And Mary the third in not knowing what Watson was feeling, but still believing him blindly)

Desperate to win…_ (Holmes wanting to win against Moriarty, Watson wanting to win Holmes back, Mary wanting to win Watson back)_

_The first had been defeated. Dead and lost forever in memory. And I was still being drawn in! I could not let a dead threat defeat me._ (Holmes, the first victim. Moriarty defeated him but still Watson can't let go of the situation. Moriarty's evil still looms over his life)

_We were all linked, and the first two were broken. Two left, still drawn in by the power of love. But we have the opportunity to sever the link permanently._ (It was a chain reaction of destruction, starting with Moriarty and Holmes. But Watson and Mary have a chance to break the chain and survive)

And seeing the truth too late. _(Holmes didn't realize he was trapped in the web until he couldn't escape)_

The world is dying with me. Just as a rose loses its petals, each day that I go deeper in my own extensions wither. I had not noticed the silence. _(He's been wallowing in grief and self recriminations, not noticing how it had been affecting Mary)_

But there is nothing left. Even the sun deserts me now, and threatens to take her. To disappear behind the clouds of my despair awaiting conclusion. _(He realizes that if he doesn't move on from his brooding about Holmes he'll lose Mary as well)_

But I see the truth in time. _(He recognizes the trap he's falling into)_

"_I love you. You and only you, until eternity," I whisper. My words are lost on the breeze. (_As he speaks the words, they are to Mary. He may be thinking of Holmes as well. And there may even be a spiritual element there. I'm not entirely certain what he was thinking when he said that)

Do I break? _(And here is the choice. Does he continue in his despair and follow the path of Holmes and Moriarty? Consumed by emotion, living with that obsession until it destroys him? Or does he move on with his life, taking pleasure in his wife and the blessings he still has? What do you think?)_


	3. A brief essay, concerning psychology

_A/N: I thought it would be a good idea to explain a little of my opinion of the psychology of the characters, in a simpler way than I do in the story._

_For the purpose of this essay, I will "play the game," with Watson being the author of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. I am also only addressing the timeline as far as 1891. I will make some assumptions, but ones that I believe have canonical basis._

_First some basic facts, of which I am sure you are all aware._

_In late 1887, Dr. Watson was wed to Mary Morstan. Soon after, or maybe even before, Holmes became aware of a great criminal presence in London. The crisis came in April of 1891, which resulted in the death of the criminal, Professor Moriarty, and Sherlock Holmes. These are the relevant facts to this fic._

_The main points in my story concern the friendship between Holmes and Watson, the marriage of Watson and Mary, and the competition between Holmes and Moriarty._

_Beginning with the friendship of Holmes and Watson, during their decade of acquaintance before Holmes's death, I see something akin to unrequited love in Watson. He is a man who has seen the horrors of war, and is in a profession in which a man must either shut down his emotions or draw on them to survive. I think everyone will agree that Watson used his emotions to his benefit._

_However in the case of Sherlock Holmes, he had a problem. Somehow the two formed a deep bond of friendship. But Holmes does not show emotion. So how could Watson ever know if Holmes returned his feelings of friendship? He had given a part of his soul to the man, in a unique show of love._

_I'll define this unique love before continuing, so there are no misconceptions. I am referring to "agape" love, which means "self-sacrificing" in Greek. The original reference is Biblical, concerning the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross to forgive the sins of the world. It is a rare love and a rare friend indeed, for someone to sacrifice themselves for another._

_I believe Watson would sacrifice himself for Holmes in a heartbeat. It is the type of man he is. Once he forms a friendship, it is to eternity. That is my opinion of him._

_Now we'll look at the friendship from Holmes's perspective. He has discovered a man who provides for him physically in the position of professional partner and doctor, and emotionally; Watson gives Holmes praise and a steady tie to reality, which Holmes so often forsakes in his work._

_For reasons unknown to us, which I will not speculate on at this time, Holmes has all but closed his heart to other human beings. But I believe every person has a counterpart, and Watson was his. He did not know what to do with a counterpart however, and likely was unsure about the idea of true friendship with this love I describe and so guarded his heart for fear of pain._

_In short, he accepted Watson as a friend but did not return the strong feelings Watson felt for him. At least, before 1891 he didn't._

_Now we'll shift to Holmes and his nemesis, Professor Moriarty. He was an intellectual equal to Holmes, by his own admission, and the greatest professional competition Holmes had ever known. To Holmes, there could be no greater accomplishment in logic and justice than to defeat Moriarty._

_I also believe Moriarty felt similarly about Holmes. It would be his greatest criminal achievement to defeat the world's greatest detective._

_For a long time, years perhaps, this competition consumed the two of them. I believe that for Holmes it became like an addiction as Moriarty taunted him in hopes of defeating him, and Holmes came one step closer to his goal each time._

_Obsession is a deadly trap to fall into, and almost impossible to escape. So Holmes pressed on in his pursuit and won, but he had gone too far at that point. It was Moriarty who had become the obsessed one, and as we know he made it his purpose to kill Holmes, and he did. Holmes could no longer escape at that point._

_Perhaps, had he had his steady tie to reality to anchor him, he could have made it. But when one falls so far into that pit of addiction, there comes a point when they don't want to escape, and would choose death instead. Holmes was resigned to this, in my opinion._

_Watson's part in this was simply to watch his friend disappear. Because by the time he was aware of the problem there was little he could have done to change the situation. I believe he was in a bit of denial about the issue, not wanting to believe that Holmes had finally gotten himself into a predicament with no solution._

_Had Watson not been so unsure about Holmes's feelings for him, he may have taken a more active role. But his confusion over that matter likely held him back when he wanted to act._

_And there is one more factor in this situation. Mary Watson nee Morstan. She started as a client of Holmes, but with Watson it was love at first sight. And very likely, almost the same for Mary. Holmes was aware of this development as it was occurring and showed no signs that he approved or disapproved._

_We know that Holmes disapproves of women in general, because he doesn't understand them. But of Watson's marriage his only words were that she was an excellent choice, but he couldn't congratulate him because of his personal distrust of women._

_It is possible, that Holmes was more reluctant to show any feeling for Watson after the marriage, though the reasons for his holding back are uncertain and numerous in possibility. I won't speculate on that either, but it is almost certain that he checked his feelings when Watson left him._

_Watson's feelings never changed however. He had room in his heart for both Holmes and Mary, but it was a challenge to express love for them both. I don't believe he loved one more than the other, but given the situation it often seemed that he had to choose between them: stay with Mary or accompany Holmes on cases._

_Mary was the perfect wife for Watson. Never questioning, always willing to give Watson his time with Holmes. But I don't believe she truly understood the nature of their friendship. She did her best, but Watson, being insecure about his position with Holmes, did not tell her anything of his feelings. And he also spared her in that way, by not burdening her (in his eyes) with all of his confusion._

_Mary trusted Watson, and blindly agreed with him, though it gave her some confusion. She never felt any malice toward Holmes, nor felt that she was a competitor with him for Watson's love. But Watson felt that he may not be doing his duty as husband, by giving so much time to Holmes. Yet again, he kept this from her. (An illustration of some of this can be found in my epilogue to 'Like No Other') It did give her some grief, seeing her husband suffering something that he would not share. Watson knew this._

_When Holmes died, I don't believe Watson was able to contain his grief and feelings. He wore them plainly, and Mary was finally able to understand the friendship Watson had with Holmes, and understood his feelings on the matter, which then cleared up her distress._

_The trait of self-sacrificing love is strong in both characters. Watson giving his friendship to Holmes without knowing if his feelings were returned, and Mary willing to endure the blindness Watson placed upon her by not explaining any of his distress about his standing with Holmes, is a perfect show of this love._

_I would like to say Holmes possessed this quality as well, but in this scenario it is not present in his character. The emotion that fed him was addiction, in the form of the need to attain victory. What fed Moriarty was obsession, in the form of his desire to destroy his rival._

_So we have those two trapped in a circle, fighting each other. And then Watson and Mary following in confusion, but never once considering leaving the ones they love._

_And that's my opinion of the psychology of the situation. If it makes no sense, I apologize. But I believe my opinions have canonical basis and I will stand by them._

_Thank you all for showing so much interest in a story that started as nothing more than an image in my mind of faint sunlight hitting a rose._

_-bcbdrums_


End file.
